


Scarred

by mercy_angel_09



Series: Fire Emblem 100 Challenge [16]
Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:25:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercy_angel_09/pseuds/mercy_angel_09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Micaiah and the Black Knight acknowledge the bond between them and everything they will never have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scarred

**Author's Note:**

> So in subsequent replays of Radiant Dawn I would trigger battle convos for the hell of it, only to find some seriously ship tease-y dialogue between Micaiah and the Black Knight. And I was sold. I will sail this ship forever (and trust me, having one half of the pairing dead in canon has not stopped me before).

Using a damp cloth he wipes the sweat and grime from his body. It’s a risky move, but unavoidable. Over the last three years he’s grown accustomed to getting regular baths; being constantly on the move is a necessary, but troublesome, adjustment. So he takes the risk to not feel like he’s been rolling around in the dirt, and hopes that nobody will bother him until he can get his armor on again.

“Sir Knight,” a soft voice calls from the flap of his tent, “do you have a moment? I wish to speak to you about our current situation.”

He pauses, the rag on his shoulder dripping water down his back, wondering how to best answer. Surely the Maiden of Dawn doesn’t expect him to wear his armor all the time. Or maybe she expects to talk to him through the flap of his tent. Part of him, though, doesn’t care. For once he doesn’t care if someone sees. It’s reckless and incredibly stupid to boot, but what’s life without a little danger?

“Enter,” he calls.

His back is to the entrance and he knows she’ll see the sign of his disgrace the moment she comes in. He realizes, too late of course, that he didn’t ask if she was alone.

“I…oh.” Silence falls over the tent as she stares at his back. Deciding to ignore her, he continues washing up. “Ah…the others had hoped you’d be in the strategy meeting, but we felt it was better not to bother you. I said I could catch you up later.”

“That’s why you’re here now,” he says as he dunks the rag in the bucket of lukewarm water between his feet. He wrings it out and starts trying to wash his back. “Has the situation changed any?”

“I…um…we decided we’ll march to Nevassa. We hope that the Occupational Army is going to abide by the Apostle’s orders,” she replies, watching with rapt attention as he drags the rag against his skin, beads of water sliding down each pronounced muscle before disappearing into the waistband of his trousers. She swallows audibly, causing him to chuckle.

“That seems unlikely, Maiden. No doubt they will have troops waiting for us, ready to strike us down when we reach Nevassa.”

“Yes, that’s what I figure as well. But what other choice do we have?”

“None, unfortunately. I’ve encountered men like Jarod before. They are arrogant and ruthless, and will stop at nothing to defeat their enemies. That is why I shall remain by your side. Until he is captured or killed, you are in danger.”

“Thank you, Sir Knight. Though I’m sure you have better things to do than babysit me.”

He smiles, but she can’t see it. “Actually, I don’t.”

“Oh?” He senses her moving closer, but he doesn’t budge from the stool he’s perched on. “I suppose even if I ask where you’ve been these three years past, you won’t answer, so I won’t. But I don’t understand how ensuring my safety could be the most important thing you could be doing right now.”

“I don’t think I could explain it, even if I tried,” he answers as he dunks the rag again and then wrings it out. He again moves to wash his back, but is startled when she grabs the rag from his hands. “What are you doing?”

“Washing your back,” she answers cheekily.

Exposing his back to her is one thing. Letting her touch it is entirely different. He groans as she drags the fabric across his skin. This was not what he had in mind when he invited her in. Or maybe it was. Suddenly his brain isn’t functioning the way he’d like it to.

“So many scars,” she murmurs as she works about his shoulders. “Are they all battle wounds?”

“Some,” he answers. He doesn’t need to explain where the others came from. She already knows.

“Such pain and loneliness,” she breathes as she moves down towards his brand. “I’ve never understood why they hate us so. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

He swallows the lump in his throat. His lord recognizes his plight but doesn’t truly understand, but she does. She knows what it’s like to be shunned and ignored, even by those who are supposed to love and protect you. In her he has found a kindred spirit. “We are a reminder of the sins of others and that they are also capable of such sins.”

“Such a stupid reason,” she mutters as she trails her fingers over his brand. With a soft sigh she moves to hand him the rag so he can rewet it, but instead he grabs her wrist and gently tugs her forward. She has removed her gloves so she could wash him, and he takes the opportunity to study her mark. It’s delicate, much like she is. It swoops gracefully over the back of her hand, and he thinks for just a moment that it would be quite pretty were it not the sign of some indiscretion on the part of one her ancestors. He draws it to his lips and places a gentle kiss against it, delighting in the soft gasp it draws from her.

“I wish…” he murmurs, “I wish that we could leave this place. Leave this all behind, and go somewhere and be happy. Together.” And he knows that they would be. There would be children, children who would be loved and cherished regardless of whether or not they carried the mark of one of their parents. They would be taught that all people deserve love and respect regardless of the circumstances of their birth. For a moment he allows himself believe in this fantasy he has concocted, before shaking it off. He has his duties, and he knows that she would never give up hers.

“Me too,” she answers as she wraps her arms around his shoulders and rests her face in the crook of his neck.

They lose track of time as they stay in that embrace, forgetting that she should probably go back to her tent and get some sleep. However, neither of them seem to care or be in any sort of rush to say goodbye. Micaiah tamps out the urge to ask how long he’ll stay, because she knows in the end that after the Begnion Occupational Army is stopped, he will leave. He’ll go back to wherever he had been before and go back to his life and forget about her.

“You should go,” he finally says at long last. “You’ve been here far too long, and though I doubt anyone would dare say anything against you, there will still be rumors.”

“You’re right, of course,” she agrees as she pulls herself away. He surprises her when he stands, and she can’t help but think that he looks far less imposing without the armor. In fact, he looks downright friendly. “Good night.”

Before she can make her escape he grabs her hand and pulls her in for a proper hug. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“Of course,” she replies. She pulls away and takes a few steps back so she can look at him without hurting herself. “Thank you for everything, Sir Knight. I really appreciate it.”

He acts without thinking, because apparently his brain was not in residence this night. He kisses her, not the kiss of a lover but not the kiss of family either. It is the kiss of a shy man, wanting to express his blossoming affection for someone who is rapidly becoming important to him. The relationship is doomed though, but despite knowing this part of him still wants what he cannot have.

When he pulls away she blinks up at him in surprise, a blush spreading across her cheeks. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he cuts in, reaching out and fingering a lock of her hair that’s fallen over her shoulder. “I understand.”

She nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sir Knight,” she says before she finally disappears from his tent.

He’s starting to think that he was truly born cursed. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would ever go his way. Perhaps that’s why he followed his master. In the end it is the best to solution to end the suffering of the world. He steels his resolve as he pulls his shirt back on and crawls into his bedroll. He would do it for her. He would do it for the one who gave him his hope back.


End file.
